


ADKC Extras

by thatoneinsecurenerd



Series: A different kind of chemistry [3]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Break Up, Food, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Original Character(s), Physical Abuse, Sexual Content, Swearing, Therapy, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Vampire Sleep | Remy Sanders, blood mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:47:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29706348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatoneinsecurenerd/pseuds/thatoneinsecurenerd
Summary: Elaboration on moments referenced in the main story,A Different Kind of Chemistry.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders, Dr. Emile Picani/Sleep | Remy Sanders
Series: A different kind of chemistry [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2023423
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. Remile & Remy's vampirism

**Author's Note:**

> The main work didn’t elaborate on Remy’s vampirism, so as the title of this chapter says (and I’d thought of such a good one late at night and I didn’t write it down, and it just never came back), I’ve decided to do that here. The first chapter of ADKC Lore also delves into vampirism.
> 
>  **Warnings:** implied/referenced physical abuse, implied/referenced domestic abuse, implied sexual content, alcohol mention, blood mention, food
> 
> For those who might need a summary, I'll put it at the end of this chapter after a set of asterisks (***), because I know AO3 puts the end notes for the first chapter at the very end of the completed fic.

Emile Picani was fourteen years old when he gained a new younger brother. A boy he didn’t get to see very often, because the boy’s mother had primary custody over him. A boy who had flinched when Emile opened his arms to give the boy a hug, to welcome him into his family. 

Emile was old enough to know why. He wondered how no one else had noticed what the boy’s mother was doing. 

_But_ – Emile discovered, after the boy had had a particularly frightening nightmare in the bed opposite Emile’s (since his mother and new step-father's place only had two bedrooms and they wanted the boy to not sleep on the couch and instead feel like he had a place in their home) - it wasn’t his mother. It was his step-father. A man who had entered little Logan’s life very soon after the divorce and quickly made his dominance in the household known. 

Emile didn’t know how to help, other than to provide the timid, frightened boy comfort. Comfort that the boy had, naturally, been hesitant to accept. 

Emile had sacrificed the pillow under his head to use it as a wall between him and the boy, inviting the boy into the comforting warmth of his bed. Emile slept with his back pressed firmly to the wall. He could feel the pillow between him and the boy shake. Then stop. 

He could hear a sniffle. Then a deep breath. He could hear muttered apologies. 

And yet, the boy must have found some comfort in the arrangement, because, over time, the pillow was removed – though the boy would still maintain his distance from the teen. And then, Logan’s body began to drift closer to Emile’s. And he wouldn’t protest when Emile ran long fingers through his dark hair. 

The boy would listen to Emile’s assurances that he would always be safe in that bed with him. In that house with his family. That he would always protect him from the ugliness in his head and the ugliness at his mother’s house. 

And the boy trusted the teen. Because the teen had been nothing but selfless and kind. Sacrificing half of his room for Logan one weekend a month, sacrificing half of his bed every time Logan had a nightmare, always reminding Logan that it was okay to break down. 

Though Logan would never admit to breaking down when Emile announced he’d been accepted to a college out of town. Logan was eleven, and so maybe, he thought – years of his step-father's ‘punishments’ shaping his thoughts – that it shouldn’t have been a big deal. He could live without Emile in the house for a few years. 

He tried. 

He had Emile’s phone number programmed into his phone as soon as his step-father had allowed him to have one. He could call Emile before bed, and they could fall asleep on the phone together, so Emile could hear when Logan had a nightmare and console him as much as the distance allowed. 

Emile would come home for the holidays, and Logan, no matter his age and his belief that he needed to look and act professional at all times to be taken seriously (or so his step-father had told him), would allow Emile to ruffle his hair in greeting. 

Emile came home for Christmas when Logan was fifteen with a boyfriend in tow. The boyfriend refused to take his sunglasses off in the house. Hissed when Logan opened the window to the bedroom all three had ended up sharing – because Logan had had a nightmare, and the boyfriend hadn’t been sleeping in Logan’s bed, anyway – that morning so he could continue his winter break homework for his AP classes. Didn’t touch the garlic mashed potatoes at all and hardly ate anything else on their plate at dinner. 

And yet, the behavior didn’t click as strange in Logan’s mind. Nor in Logan’s father’s. Only Emile’s mother had a suspicion, and so, before the two men had left to return to the college campus or wherever they were headed next, she pulled them into her bedroom, away from her husband and step-son's curious ears. 

“Glasses off,” she demanded the boyfriend. And even with her small stature, she seemed intimidating with her hands on her hips and a look that dared the boyfriend to disobey. As if the boyfriend would disobey his boyfriend’s parents. 

Emile’s mother pulled open the curtains ever so slightly. The boyfriend hissed. His irises turned a blood red. Emile’s mother closed the window. The boyfriend pushed his sunglasses back down over his eyes. 

“Did you know?” she asked her son. Emile nodded. “Come here.” Emile did as she asked, stepping forward. Her hands brushed his neck as she unwound his soft, magenta scarf. 

“Explains yesterday’s turtleneck,” she remarked, upon noticing the two small, dark red circles on the side of his neck. “He turned you?” 

“No,” Emile repeated multiple times, raising his hands in an attempt to placate and reassure her. “He would never.” 

“You weren’t supposed to know of this world,” Emile’s mother muttered to herself. Of course, the muttering couldn’t escape either of the men's’ ears – supernaturally-enhanced hearing not required. 

“What do you mean?” 

“How long can the two of you stay?” 

“We need to leave soon. Remy’s parents are expecting us.” 

“Are they...?” 

“No,” the boyfriend – Remy – answered. “They have no idea.” 

“Why would you introduce my son into this world and not your parents?” 

“Emile is a part of this world already. You and I both know it. I _know_ you know it. But my parents are not. No sense in getting a witch involved for a blood oath for non-magic folk who have a vampire son.” 

“Emile didn’t need to take a blood oath?” 

“I assume his father had magic?” Emile’s mother nodded. “I could tell. He’s ‘magic enough’ that it’s no problem to trust him with the secret without a blood oath. Makes my life easier, anyway. Unrelated, but untouched blood is sweeter.” 

“You willingly consent to this?” Emile’s mother asked her son. 

“I do. He told me everything to expect and asked for my approval before he did it.” Emile’s mother fixed him with a stare. As if, perhaps, she could tell he was lying to her. 

“How did the two of you meet?” 

“You don’t want to know, I think,” Remy responded, saving Emile the embarrassment of answering. 

“Well, now you _have_ to tell me, vampire boy.” 

“Club,” the vampire muttered. “His twenty-first birthday. He was cute. I treated him to a good time. My vampire urges may have gotten a _little_ ahead of me. Magic blood hammering in the skin under my lips can do that, you know.” The men flushed at the memory. “But I stopped before I could turn or hurt him. And that sobered us up enough that I had to tell him everything. 

“Thank Selene he didn’t leave when I told him what I am and what he actually was. He was fascinated, actually. But I suppose you know your son is naturally curious. He’s learned a lot of magic since then. He’s willingly let me feed on him since then. We’ve been dating since then.” 

“Thank you for being honest, Remington,” Emile’s mother said. 

“Please don’t call me that. It’s just Remy.” 

“Remington is his father,” Emile joked with a chuckle that cut off as soon as the other two in the room turned to him. “It wasn’t _that_ bad a joke.” The fixed look his way continued. “Oh, alright. _Merlin_.” But he wasn’t actually put off. The exchange was all in good fun, they all knew. 

“If you hurt him, I’ll drive a wooden stake through your heart, Remy,” Emile’s mother warned him sternly. 

“I have no plans to hurt him. But are you sure you don’t want to come up with a more unique threat? A stake to the vampire’s heart is _so_ cliché.” 

“I don’t know enough about your world to know what’ll kill you, vampire boy. I only know what Lady Evanora down the street told me so I could make sure Emile grew up normally.” 

“You prevented him from displaying magic entirely?” 

“Unless you practice magic, it lies dormant. There’s no literal explosion of power as you hit puberty. He’d throw intense magic tantrums as a baby – I was the only one who raised him, you know – but ever since then, Lady Evanora has kept me stocked with chamomile tea that calms mood and the magic inside him.” 

“Should I be worried about the chamomile tea you just gifted me?” Emile asked, his psychologist’s mind wondering if this kind of secret-keeping and emotion-manipulating could be considered a breach of ethics, a form of abuse. And if yes, what that meant for his relationship for his mother. 

(Maybe nothing. Nothing had to be wrong. She’d never shown any other signs of abuse. She’d done it for Emile’s benefit, most likely. She couldn’t have taught him to use his magic, so she had to keep it a secret from him and hope for the best. She had to make sure it was controlled so he didn’t become scared of the power he could wield that she could never teach him how to properly wield. 

She could have been insisting that it had been for his benefit – like a typical abuser – but she wasn’t saying that it was for _anyone’s_ benefit. Just that it was a solution that had been advised – at least, Emile _assumed_ that was the case – and seemed the best at the time.) 

“If you want to get rid of it now that you know and that you’re able to practice your magic safely, you can go ahead. I can give you money to buy a pack of chamomile tea from the store that _won’t_ be infused with magic calming potion,” Emile’s mother responded. She really did feel guilty at manipulating him like that for all those years. She was glad he was able to explore that part of himself safely. 

She’d been fascinated by magic. That had been one of many things that had drawn her to Emile’s father. (The fact that Emile’s father hadn’t been ready to help her raise a magical child because they were both barely nineteen was fine. It was fine. She’d managed to raise this boy all on her own, and he’d turned out great.) 

“Maybe I’ll keep it around,” Emile told her kindly. “I can leave it here for when I come to visit, just in case. Or maybe Logan can find use for it. He drinks tea, doesn’t he?” 

“He prefers coffee. But he doesn’t have magic for the tea to calm, anyway.” 

“How do you know?” 

“Just a hunch.” 

“She’s right, though,” Remy contributed. “I assume you don’t plan on telling him about any of this?” 

“He doesn’t need to be involved in your world.” 

“You’re a part of _our_ world, too, you know. As soon as you met Emile’s father and took a blood oath. So that, I suppose, begs the question, what did he do to you that urged you to keep this from both of your sons?” 

“Nothing went wrong. Not with magic. I have nothing against magic. If I did, I wouldn’t get the tea from Lady Evanora. It’s better for the magic folk that those without magic don't have access to all their information, is it not? And just because Logan has one – maybe two? -” Emile’s mother fixed Remy with a look. Remy flushed. 

“Not quite so soon, ma’am,” Remy told her, avoiding the eyes of the other two in the room. Emile’s cheeks lit up pink as he finally caught on to the implication of his mother’s question. 

“Mom!" he whispered, also avoiding everyone’s eyes. 

“It’s a genuine question,” she defended. “Anyway. Just because Logan has a magical family member doesn’t mean he needs to be immersed in the knowledge of that world. He’s plenty fascinated with the knowledge of this one.” 

“And if he finds himself introduced to it somehow, anyway?” Remy asked. 

“After all,” Emile continued, “college is a whole new world, itself. It’s where I met Remy.” 

“You said you met in a club,” Emile’s mother questioned. 

“Yeah. But I met him while attending college.” Emile’s mother nodded her understanding. 

“Well, if that happens... It’s not really my business, is it? He can’t do magic. Magic folk aren’t a threat. I’m not a threat to them. He’ll be an adult. 

“You’re not in trouble for finding your place in that world, I hope you know that, Emile. I’m glad you have. And I’m glad the circumstances upon which you did were friendly. That’s all I could ask: that you willingly accepted your place in that world and that you’re still happy with it now.” 

“I am.” 

“And if Logan comes to experience the same, I’ll be happy for him, too.” Emile’s mother gave her son and his boyfriend a small, genuine smile. “The two of you should probably get going now. But say goodbye to Logan again before you go, will you? I’m glad the two of you have always been so close.” 

“Of course,” Emile responded. He pressed a kiss to the top of his mother’s head and crouched down so she could, next, do the same. 

“Come here, Remy,” the woman said to the vampire. Remy obliged. “Welcome to the family.” 

“Mom! He hasn’t even proposed!” 

“But he will. And he better come get mine and your step-father's blessing before he does.” 

“I promise on my blesséd Starbies,” Remy responded. He might have sounded a little silly, but he was entirely serious. He wasn’t about to upset his boyfriend’s mother. Even if, realistically, he could easily overpower her if she tried to hurt him. As if he wouldn’t let her hurt him if he ever hurt Emile. 

“Good. Now get going, you two. You don’t want to be late.” 

“Of course,” Emile repeated. Remy and Emile stepped away from the shorter woman and were the first to leave the room. 

Emile bid a final goodbye to Logan. And then, he and Remy were gone. And Logan had to return to repressing his emotions and sleeping in a bed that would at least smell like Emile (and the boyfriend, Logan tried not to think about) for a week or two. 

***

 **Summary:** This chapter begins by describing the moment Emile first met his step-brother, Logan Aster, and quickly figured out that Logan was suffering some form of abuse in his primary home. Logan has nightmares, sometimes, because of the experiences, and Emile is always there for him, the two of them, over time, getting more comfortable with accepting comfort from one another. Logan learns that he can be unabashedly himself around Emile. This doesn't change when Emile goes off to college. It doesn't change when he brings home a man named Remy. Logan doesn't know, at this point, about Remy's vampirism or the magic world, but Emile's mother, a simultaneously short and scary woman, does. She interrogates Remy about how he and Emile met and his intentions with Emile. And the last little bit of the chapter is foreshadowing for the main story :)


	2. Anxceit - why it didn't last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“We were always on and off again, when we were dating. Friendship had been easy; dating was like a minefield.”_ \- Janus Mourier, A Different Kind of Chemistry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** underaged sex, sexual content, toxic relationship, unhealthy coping mechanisms, swearing
> 
> There’s a lot of talk about sex in this one. I wasn’t sure if that would consitute the work being rated Explicit, but I’ll gladly rate it as such if anyone feels like it should be. Also please don’t hesitate to let me know if I forgot to tag something.

In the American school system – at least in the Florida town where Virgil and Janus grew up – there were several elementary/primary schools, slightly fewer junior high/middle schools, and an upwards of, perhaps, four high/secondary schools. In other words, there was always the chance to meet new people who you hadn’t always gone to school alongside. Such was the case for Virgil and Janus. 

At their respective middle schools, they’d been the “emo freak,” clad in dark clothing and makeup, and flipping off anyone who came into contact with them away from a teacher’s watchful eye – because it was better they be harsh than let their guard down for someone who might only hurt them in the end, given their reputation. They were silent in the classroom, yet somehow maintained excellent grades. 

On their first day of high school, they were shoved into the same homeroom with a bunch of stereotypical-looking white jocks whose looks between one another and back at the two boys seated in opposite back corners of the classroom clearly indicated that an imaginary target had been placed on their foreheads. A target that would stick with them the entirety of high school. A target that led to mocking and being shoved aside like a worthless obstacle in someone’s pathway. 

A target that resulted in them needing to find a refuge: a place they didn’t have to worry about the targets on their foreheads because others like them understood the pain. And “others like them” (“emo freaks”) all seemed to gravitate towards the same place: the band classroom, where the teacher ate their lunch and oversaw kids playing random snippets of pieces on the grand piano in the corner of the room. Where the teacher had a “they/them” button pinned to the inside of the satchel they brought to class each day, which was filled with snacks for the students always in their classroom during lunch. 

Maybe they’d been like them once. But it didn’t matter anymore, because they were providing a safe place for people like Virgil and Janus. 

Virgil found the room first. He had guitar class in the classroom next door, right before the lunch hour. He had to stay back one day – an anxiety-filled five minutes of shifting on his feet as the teacher merely told him that he was excelling in her class and had he considered taking music theory and expanding his knowledge beyond the basics the class taught, since he seemed so passionate about the craft? - and upon his departure, noticed the flock of students just like him slipping into the room next door. A room he followed them into, after another few minutes of nervous shifting on his feet (this time, outside this unfamiliar classroom) until a person with purple hair and a septum piercing gave him a wink, a smile, and gestured with their hand for him to follow them. 

He was welcomed instantly. And Janus, a couple months later, received the same welcome, when he walked in on the arm of a senior boy (black hair, long fringe hanging in front of his eyes made green by colored contacts, hiding a piercing in his eyebrow) named James. A senior boy named James who, only another month after that, tore Janus’s heart into shreds. 

So Janus stopped coming. But he and Virgil had begun talking by then, lamenting over the couple classes they shared, courtesy of their homeroom teacher doubling as their English teacher and assigning stupid assignments and a history teacher who was so bigoted he _should_ have been fired but he wouldn’t be, because they lived in Conservative Florida. And if someone asked Janus, he’d say that his blossoming friendship with Virgil was the reason he and James hadn’t lasted. Not because Janus was actually a side piece for James to use to explore his sexuality, as he dated some girl on the debate team who probably only wanted to piss off her parents, if the stereotypes held true. 

Virgil and Janus would do their homework together in the coffeeshop a couple blocks away from the high school: a common hangout for both high school and college kids, but also a safe space, because no one could do anything too bad to people like Virgil and Janus unless they wanted to be banned from the place. A few had tried. _All_ were banned. 

The duo had a table that they liked to call their own, in one of the back corners of the coffeeshop, alcoved behind a line of trashcans beside the pathway from the front door to the front counter. If they both sat in the chairs pressed directly to the wall and slouched, no one would even know they were there, unless they listened for the whispers underneath the noise of the other students in the coffeeshop. 

It had been a day like any other when Janus’s glamour to conceal his scales faded away. He’d tried to do it on his own that morning, but he was still a bit rusty at casting charms with the curse affecting his magical core. Or maybe he’d done it just fine and it was just that it was later than Janus had anticipated being out. 

But talking with Virgil was always so nice. And it was so much nicer when Virgil revealed his own magic, revealed another thing he and Janus had in common, when he silently and wandlessly (though the latter wasn’t such a big deal to people whose magical core wasn’t weakened by a curse) replaced the glamour without Janus even needing to ask. When he lifted the burden of a couple heavy secrets off of Janus’s shoulders – at least around Virgil. 

It made it so much easier to be themselves around each other. They didn’t feel ashamed to confide in one another, things they didn’t even tell their families. They got closer and closer until a final secret was spilled. In Virgil’s case, it was that he was gay. Because Virgil already knew Janus was (see: the James fiasco. Apparently J-names weren’t immune to being broken-hearted by other J-names). 

Neither would be able to remember anything beyond a voice, Virgil’s, being silenced by Janus pressing his lips to Virgil’s. 

Kissing quickly became their new favorite activity (replacing lamenting about homework that they very rarely actually had trouble with). Kissing and holding hands and planning a future together. Planning a business venture together, among other magic folk, where they never needed to feel ashamed for being their authentic selves. They’d never once experienced the same isolation among magic folk like they did on the high school’s grounds. 

They dated as best as they could in a Conservative Florida town, mostly keeping everything on the down-low, confined to someone’s bedroom. Confined to _Virgil’s_ bedroom, because Virgil’s father had to work two jobs to take care of the bills, since Virgil was too young (at first) and too anxious to work a minimum-wage, customer-service job, and wasn’t around until 11 o’clock at night. 

They had a few fights, as couples do. Virgil would get worried about something, Janus had carried over a few toxic behaviors from his first relationship: his toxic relationship with James, where all he’d ever been good for was a good fuck. And they got tired of fighting each other and fighting something that just didn’t seem to be working, even if the feelings were there. 

But there was always a passion between them, regardless. They held a love for one another that consumed them like a forest fire, instead of flickered like a candlelight. 

They were all bark and never any bite, except in the bedroom, where the biting took on a lustful meaning instead of an angry one. 

Their friendship only worked because their business separated into two individual businesses, and they only occasionally needed to rely on one another. But it also worked because they still cared, even if it was the “I’ll fuck you until you forget about your worries” kind of care. A toxic kind of care that they didn’t know was toxic because they were young. Because they were inexperienced. 

Their friendship only worked because, when they met Remus and both got on with him, they knew they needed to be civil for their friendship with Remus’s sake. Because Remus was able to act like a buffer between them and stop something before it went too far (usually only needing to make a remark like, “I’ve always wanted to be a part of a threesome” when Virgil and Janus were glaring each other down and the passion and sexual tension in the room were so thick and heavy it weighed down on all of them). 

Because they both still cared about one another - until they didn’t. Until a fight went too far and couldn’t be resolved with the hate sex they’d found themselves having a lot of. Until they could just barely be civil in business, with the trust broken between them. 

Because Janus fell out of love with Virgil, began to hate the dance they’d been doing for years: the fighting of trying to work out as a romantic partnership only to destroy their business partnership and their friendship time and time again, until one of them needed a quick-fix fuck and, post-orgasm, they were stupid enough to believe they could get it right on their fifty-millionth attempt. 

They’d never gotten it right. And when Janus said he couldn’t do it anymore, Virgil broke. And yet, he didn’t believe it. Because Janus was still there. Because Janus tried to maintain their friendship in the only way he knew how: sex. 

Because just because his care wasn’t romantic in nature didn’t mean that the care wasn’t still there. 

And yeah, maybe Virgil knew Janus was just leading him on at that point and so he should’ve called it quits, should've stopped calling Janus up, but it was routine. It was all they knew, if they didn’t have Remus to come between them. 

Until Janus was the one to finally call it quits by admitting he was in love with Logan, shattering Virgil’s heart in a way that it had never been shattered before. In a way that shook Virgil to his very core, because yeah, the signs had been there, but he’d spent so much of his and Janus’s on-and-off-again _whatever_ ignoring any signs that meant that he would lose Janus completely. Not wanting to believe it could ever happen. 

But then Janus said he was in love with Logan, and Virgil loved Janus. So there was a jealousy that couldn’t be fucked away. The rose-tinted glasses slipped off his face and he could see Janus’s true colors. He could see the true colors of their friendship/relationship. He needed to come to terms with it. 

He didn’t know how to work through it without a fuck. Without making Janus so angry, because Virgil was already angry, that their screaming match evolved into a different kind of screaming. Into sighing and moaning and hands bruising and scraping bare skin in a way that was never truly painful. 

He didn’t know how he could face Janus. And so, he made himself hate him. Made himself push Janus away. Push Logan away. Leaving him all alone again, just like high school. 

God, in college, high school felt so long ago. Freshman year of high school felt like an eternity ago, when compared to freshman year of college. 

Except Janus’s stupid, bubbly brother just wouldn’t let Virgil leave. _Why was he so fucking naïve? Didn’t he know what his brother had done to Virgil? Couldn’t he feel the hatred that rolled off of the both of them in waves?_ A hatred that couldn’t be solved with a fuck because it wasn’t fair to any of them. 

A hatred that Virgil had to start going to therapy to work through, because he couldn’t do it on his own, and he didn’t want to fuck anyone who wasn’t Janus. Not when he still loved Janus, buried deep by denial under the hatred. (No, he wasn’t fucking his therapist. His therapist actually provided him with better coping mechanisms.) 

And yeah, Virgil still had a long way to go. He had a lot to work through while Janus got to be happy with someone new. Someone who wouldn’t let Janus take advantage of them like Virgil had. Someone who Janus probably loved too much to take advantage of. Because Janus had stopped loving Virgil at some point. 

_How long had he kept that a secret? How long had he been lying? What had happened to no secrets between them, not after they’d seen every bare patch of each other’s skin?_

_Fuck._

Virgil was broken and Janus was happy, and he hated it. He hated everything. 

Therapy was his only saving grace. His business was his biggest motivation. He even pushed college onto the backburner, switching to part-time, just to try to find another artifact collector (or five. Because none were as good in the business as Janus had been) he’d feel comfortable working with so he didn’t have to face Logan and Janus. 

It was healthier that way. His therapist said so, and he believed them. He had no reason not to. A therapist wasn’t like Janus. A therapist didn’t lie, didn’t fuck in lieu of facing their feelings. 

Virgil no longer fucked in lieu of facing his feelings. He expanded his business and he worked at a snail’s pace to get a music degree. He found a cheap guitar and remembered his old safe haven. He made a new safe haven in an apartment near campus but not near Janus’s own. He scattered pieces of his broken heart in the songs he wrote about everything he’d gone through. 

He healed and worked on himself until he was ready to find someone new. And then, he _did_ find someone new. Someone none of the others knew. 

And so, finally ended the story of Janus and Virgil. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I originally said this was the last chapter I had pre-written, but I wrote one more a few days ago. I'll still gladly take requests for this fic, though. (Something fluffy, perhaps, to counteract the angsty stuff I've been writing lately?)

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if I forgot to tag something, and I will asap!
> 
> Just like for [ADKC Lore](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29536260), I only have one other chapter after this pre-written, _but_ I will be taking requests. For this fic, the requests should be moments referenced in the main story you want to see or events that could potentially take place past the end of the story that you want to see. I can't promise that I'll write them, but I've been wanting to write and I've had no ideas.


End file.
